The Sisters
by It'sJustADream
Summary: Long before the aunts became The Aunts, they were nothing more than sisters, trying to navigate the worlds of love, the family curse, and how to be themselves in a town that hates them. Prequel to the Practical Magic film. Told in three parts.


**Part One: The Black Soap**

'Come on now, Jetty. I haven't got all day,' complained Frances, drumming her gloved hand against the doorframe.

'Oh, now, I won't be two minutes, Franny. Have a little patience.' Jet appeared in the doorway, securing her hat to her head with a long muslin scarf and a sour look for her sister.

Jet extended her elbow and Frances took it, looping her long arm through and thrusting a lace parasol above to shield them from the late summer sun. Both girls were young, neither older than eighteen, but wore frumpy, out-of-date clothes, and let their long hair flow freely in waves down their backs. Although each had their own sense of style, so alike were the Owens sisters, and so infrequently were they ever seen apart, that throughout the town they were known as simply "the sisters". Neither sister minded this grouping together for the other was the most important person in the world to them.

'Looking beautiful as ever, Fran,' said a voice by the garden gate.

Ethan Baxter, fresh from working on the fishing boats with his daddy, was smoking a cigarette as he leant against the fence post.

'Now Ethan, we're _far_ too busy to entertain a gentleman today,' teased Frances, her nose thrust upwards towards the sky as they passed him.

Ethan jogged to keep up with them. 'Which distant relative did this get up belong to then?' he asked. 'Bridget,' he added to Jet, tipping his hat like the gentleman his mother wished he would be.

'Now that would be a family secret,' replied Frances with a wry smile, smoothing down the Edwardian coat with a gloved hand.

Her eyes darted back towards the house where a figure was stood in one of the upstairs windows, silently watching them. 'Come on, Jet,' Frances pulled on her sister's arm, her smile fading.

'Nice to see you, Ethan,' added Jet politely.

'Now come on, Fran. When're you gonna let me take you on that date then?'

'Oh will you just give it up, Mr Baxter,' said Frances but she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

'Not until I'm dead in my grave. And even then I'll be trying to get next to the likes of you, Frances Owens.' He looked up at her earnestly and Frances stopped.

She moved closer to him quickly. 'You know what they say about me around here, don't you?' she asked. 'That I'm a witch. That I'll curse you. Aren't you scared?' She looked up at him with wild and wide eyes.

'Not one fig.' He smirked.

Frances looked at him long and hard for what felt like an eternity.

'Well you should be,' she said, taking her sister's hand and finally walking away.

As they passed a tree, a shower of bright green leaves rained down on them. The Leaves of Change. Jet turned to look at her sister but Frances kept her face forwards.

'Come on Jet, time to do the rounds.'

Their mother had sent them out as she did every Friday, with satchels full of the Owen's famous handmade black soap, to sell to their regular customers. Although most of the village feared them, called them names, and otherwise terrorised them, they also needed them more than they liked to admit. The Owen's black soap was like magic itself. Although everyone reported different effects. For some, it made their skin shine radiant, as if glowing from within. For others it tightened, smoothing away wrinkles and sagging skin in a flash. It seemed to know exactly what your skin needed and the town often couldn't go without.

Fridays were soap days, Mondays through Thursdays were breads and cakes, and Saturdays were twine and yarn. They made their living this way, selling the things that they made. It had once been a family occasion, the sisters and their mother travelling around town together, but now the sisters were expected to venture out alone.

They didn't have to leave the house on Sundays though. Sundays were the days that the town tended to come to them. Desperate women, scrambling at the back door with long nails tap-tap-tapping against the pane glass. These women came for spells. Love spells mostly. It was one of the few times any of them saw their mother any more. She would sit with them, pulling out the ancient book despite the fact that she knew the spells now by heart. These women would throw down balled up dollar bills onto the kitchen table and the sisters would watch silently from the staircase, counting down the days until this too became their responsibility.

'Hello!' Beamed Jet as the sisters approached Mrs Bateman, sweeping her front steps.

She jumped and waved her broom at the teenagers. 'What'cha think you're playing at, sneaking up on an old woman like that!' she snapped.

Frances hung back by the gate, still lost in her thoughts.

'We have your soap, Ma'am,' said Jet, reaching into her satchel and pulling out the package. Earlier that morning Jet had taken the time to wrap each bar in wax paper and secure with twine and dried lavender. She loved the little touches.

Mrs Bateman quickly snatched it from her. 'Christ! Don't let the _entire_ town know my personal business girl.' She quickly shoved the soap into her apron pocket, thrusting a couple of rolled up notes at Jet in return. 'It's bad enough that Mr Bateman now knows that I use your devil soap, but I don't want the whole street knowing.' She picked up her broom again and thrust it towards Jet. 'Now go on, get.'

'You ought to be nicer to us,' warned Frances, turning to look at the old woman with dark eyes.

'Oh you got your momma's eyes alright. There's darkness in you, girl. I can see it.'

'Hey! It's the witch girls!' shouted a teenage boy from down the street. Samuel Greyson, he'd been in the girl's class at school and was somehow even dumber than he looked.

'See what you've done. Get out of here now, I'm warning you.' Mrs Bateman shooed them away with her broom as if they were cats on her porch.

'Come on, Jetty.' Frances lead the way down the street.

'Wait up! What's the hurry, ladies?' Samuel had been joined by other local boys who continued to follow the sisters.

'Witch! Witch! You're a bitch!' they chanted in unison. 'Witch! Witch! You're a bitch!'

The girls kept their heads high, ignoring the chant that they'd come to know so well over the years that it didn't hurt them anymore. They _were_ witches. And as Frances liked to point out, most days they were even bitches. They couldn't get mad about a simple statement of the truth. At least they had outgrown throwing stones at them.

'You better watch your mouth, Samuel Greyson.'

Frances turned around quickly as Ethan tore across the street and punched the teenage boy square in the jaw. The sisters stared at him dumbfounded as he continued to punch.

'That's no way to talk to a lady,' he said.

'Ethan!' Frances called.

Ethan stopped his attack. 'Run back home to mommy, Greyson.' He stood up and closed the gap between himself and the sisters. 'You alright?' he asked.

'I…I'm perfectly fine.' Frances was still at a loss for words.

'There was no need to resort to violence,' said Jet, her brow furrowing. 'He was only calling a silly little chant, he would've gotten what was coming to him in time.'

Frances turned to look at her sister with wide eyes before turning back to Ethan. 'Oh Ethan, your hand.' He had broken the skin on his knuckles.

'It's nothing.'

'Really, you deserve any injuries you get, behaving like that.'

'Jet, why don't you continue the rounds and I'll fix up Ethan's hand,' suggested Frances, trying to communicate with her sister using primarily her eyes. 'It's the least I can do for defending our honour like that.'

'I don't think he cared at all for _my_ honour, actually,' Jet looked back towards their house. 'Besides…mother…'

'It'll be fine, I'll take him through the garden, she won't even see him. And I'll catch up with you once I'm done.'

'Just be careful,' Jet squeezed her sister's hand and set off down the street.

'Follow me,' Frances said, leading Ethan around the side of her house and to the garden that the three women worked so hard on all year round.

She ducked low as they passed the windows and lead Ethan to the back porch. She made him sit whilst she disappeared inside to gather some of the salve that Jet had made earlier that week. Frances spread it generously across his knuckles, letting her hands linger on his for as long as she could.

He winced as the cold paste touched his broken skin but it was a good sting that quickly turned soothing.

'This doesn't count as our date, just so you know,' she joked.

'Does that mean that you're agreeing to go out with me?' he asked. He'd broken out into a grin.

'Fine. But don't be expecting too much out of me, Ethan Baxter. One date is all you're getting,' she said sternly, a small smile threatening to break at the corner of her mouth.

She wrapped his hand in a clean piece of gauze and then simply held his hand, no pretence needed.

'Frances Owens, what do you think you're doing?' snapped her mother from the doorway.

Frances split apart from Ethan as if she'd been electrocuted and stood up sadly.

'Nothing, mother. I was just helping dress Ethan's hand is all.' Frances looked down at the ground.

'Hurt fighting no doubt?' she raised a dark eyebrow at Ethan. 'Well it's well tended to now, so he should be getting on his way, don't you think?'

'Yes, Ma'am.' Ethan tipped his hat at her mother. 'Fran.' He disappeared back around the front of the house.

'Now don't you have your rounds to be getting on with?' snapped her mother. 'We rely on that soap money to keep this house running. Do you want to see us living on the street?'

'No mother.'

'At least I have one daughter I can rely on,' she snapped. 'One day you won't have me around and you'll have to support yourselves. You're not going to do that by slacking off. Hop to it.'

Frances returned begrudgingly to her rounds and caught up with her sister, all the while secretly hoping that "one day" would be sooner rather than later and she could finally start living her own life.

Ethan came to pick Frances up on Sunday morning by gently throwing pebbles at her bedroom window until she came to answer.

'What does that boy want?' asked Jet, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

'Me, I should think.' Frances grinned and snuck out to the balcony. 'Not that she will, but if Mother notices that I'm gone will you make up some excuse for me, Jetty?'

'I'll try, but just make sure that you're back before nine.' The sisters shared a look.

'Now you and I both know Jetty that she doesn't need us for those spells. She just makes us watch so that it's one more thing she doesn't have to do anymore. Like being a mother.' Frances stood with her hand on her hip, staring at her sister with an eyebrow raised.

'Fran? Are you there?' whispered Ethan from the vegetable garden.

'Just a minute,' Frances hissed back.

'Are you sure you know what you're doing, Franny?' asked Jet. 'Ethan Baxter seems nice and all, but he's not like us. What if he doesn't understand?'

'I'll be fine, Jetty. You know I can take care of myself. I'm an Owens woman.' Frances placed a hand on her younger sister's face. 'And I'll be back by nine. Just hold down the fort for me until then.'

'Have fun.'

'Oh, I intend to.'

Frances closed the balcony doors behind her and climbed down the trellis to where Ethan was stood waiting. He tipped his hat to her with a smirk and she took his arm.

'So where are we off to this morning?' she asked. It was still early and so they had the streets more or less to themselves.

'I thought we could go fishing.'

' _Fishing_?!' Frances repeated. 'All this time all you've been asking and _fishing_ is the best you could come up with?'

'You might enjoy it,' he teased.

'I seriously doubt that, Ethan Baxter.' She walked ahead of him with her head held high. 'But I'm nothing if not a trier. Let's go.'

They came to a stop at the docks where Ethan's daddy's fishing boat was stood waiting. Frances went to step aboard but Ethan stopped her.

'We're not going in that.'

'Why not?' asked Frances. 'No one seems to be on it.'

'Exactly. It's too big for me to sail on my own just yet. We're taking this one.' He pointed to a small wooden boat beside it, with two fishing rods inside and a wicker basket. 'Shall we?' He held out his hand to help her onto the boat.

Frances tried to hide her disappointment.

Ethan rowed them out until the island was a little more than swimming distance away before bringing the oars in and showing Frances how to set up her fishing rod.

'So where is everyone?' she asked, staring out over the calm waters. 'I thought fisherman were out from dawn.'

'Usually. But today is Sunday,' shrugged Ethan. Frances stared at him blankly. 'Everyone's at church.'

'Oh. That place.' Frances rolled her eyes. 'So why aren't you there? Won't you get into trouble with your mother?'

'Probably, but it'd be worth it. To spend the day with you.'

'Oh so you think you're getting a whole day out of me, do you, Ethan Baxter?' Frances teased. 'What makes you so confident I won't throw you overboard right now whilst there's no one to see us?'

'You could try, but I'm a fairly decent swimmer. You have to be—growing up on a fishing boat.' He shrugged. 'I'd just come right on back.'

'What if I cursed you?'

'I don't believe in curses.'

'You should.' Frances tried to look beyond the water, using her intuition, to sense where the fish would be. She adjusted her rod accordingly.

'Hey, you don't have to do that with me, you know,' said Ethan seriously, reaching out to touch her hand. She stared down at it.

'Do what?' she asked.

'Try to scare me off. I'm not going anywhere. I'd just come right on back, remember?'

Fran closed her eyes and laughed just as something began tugging on her fishing rod. She looked at it in alarm.

'Looks like you've got one!' cheered Ethan. 'Now reel it in.'

'I actually caught one?' Frances laughed. 'I can't believe I actually caught one.'

'You're a natural.' He opened the basket and threw the fish into it.

They fished for a little while longer before rowing around the island to the clifftop where the Owens house loomed over them. Frances desperately hoped that her mother wasn't looking out of her window right now.

'Can we go somewhere else?' she asked.

'I know just the place.' He rowed them to a beach on the far side of the island that people rarely used as it only existed for a few hours a day before the tide washed it away.

Ethan helped her to shore and Frances tried not to mind that the hem of her antique dress was getting wet or that she was getting sand in her shoes. He built a fire and taught Frances how to properly gut and clean the fish that they'd caught before cooking them.

She wasn't sure how many hours had passed since she'd set out that morning but the sky had started to grow dark above them and the beach was fast disappearing. Soon, she'd have to return to reality, but for now, she was happy to sit with her back against the rocky cliffs and Ethan's arm around her shoulders.

' _Franny!'_ It was a whisper in her mind. Her sister's voice calling to her in a panic.

Frances sat bolt upright. 'We have to go,' she told Ethan.

'So soon? Surely there's a few more hours of Sunday left to enjoy before we both get into trouble?'

'It's not that, I have to get back. Something's wrong.' She began gathering up her shoes and coat.

'Wrong? How do you know?'

'I just know! Now can you get me back to my house or do I have to climb these rocks and get there myself?' she snapped.

'It's no problem, we can go now.'

Ethan brushed the sand off his trousers and started walking to the boat. Frances was already clambering inside of it and he was worried that if he didn't hurry up she'd leave him behind.

Once back at the docks, Frances ran as fast as she could through the town and back to the Owens house. The feeling of dread in her stomach growing larger and larger and only feeding her adrenaline. Ethan ran after her.

Mrs Bateman was stood on their front lawn with an angry raw rash covering her face, neck and arms. Jet was kneeling on the floor, a red mark glowing on her cheek in the shape of a hand, whilst silent tears ran down her face. And the biggest shock of all—their mother, Penelope Owens—stood on the front lawn, her hair falling out of its pins and looking all the wild witch that the town thought her to be.

'Jetty, what's going on?' asked Frances, bending down to help her sister up.

'You!' Mrs Bateman pounced on her. 'You've cursed me you little brat!'

'Bullshit,' Frances replied.

There was a collective gasp from all present at her choice of word.

' _Language!'_ snapped Penelope. 'What a foul thing to say at a time like this.'

'I haven't cursed anyone,' Frances laughed tersely. 'Least of all her!'

'You threatened me, I heard you! Clear as day. _I should be nicer to you_. You put a curse on the soap. Look at my skin!' She waved her arms around frantically. 'Look what you've done to me, you witch!'

'Did she slap you?' Frances asked her sister, placing a protective arm around her.

'Not her.' Jet glanced back at their mother. 'It's all my fault, Franny.'

'How could it be your fault?' asked Ethan. Frances jumped at the sound of his voice, forgetting that he was still there.

'This has nothing to do with you, boy. Off you go.' Penelope looked at him sternly.

'I'd like to stay, if it's all the same, Ma'am.'

'I'd like a witness to the fact that your daughters have cursed me. Now, I wanna know what you're gonna do about it.'

'Don't be forgetting who your husband wanted first, Sarah. Don't test me. We both know the power I can have over him.' She handed a dark glass jar of cream to Mrs Bateman. 'Put this on twice a day and the rash will disappear.'

'Like hell am I putting anything else on my skin that came from this devil house.'

'You will if you want the rash to disappear. This jar is free of charge, I'd run along now before I change my mind about it.'

Mrs Bateman reluctantly took the jar and disappeared.

'You stupid girl,' snapped Penelope, walking back towards the house. 'How many times have I told you that the black soap is very sensitive? You can't go adding things to it.'

'I haven't added anything to it?' Frances replied confused.

'I was just trying to make it look nicer,' said Jet. 'I didn't know it would react like that.'

'The lavender did that?' asked Frances.

'If either of you spent half as much time studying the book as you do wasting your time with fishermen's sons, you'd know that you can't cover the soap. Don't you think I would've by now if you could?'

'So it was the wax paper?'

Penelope looked at her daughter darkly. 'Get inside. Now. It's almost nine.' She headed up the porch steps. 'And let's just hope no one else has a bad reaction or we're done in this town. No one will buy another thing from us again.'

Jet and Frances followed their mother inside until Frances remembered Ethan and ran back out to him.

'I wondered if you'd forgotten me,' he said with a wry smile.

'I had a really great time today,' she said before pulling him in for a kiss. 'Fish guts and the last ten minutes or so excluded.'


End file.
